“How many, Alice?”
“Three or four. Aren’t too far behind either.”
I looked back, but even with the moonlight bathing the slope, I could see nothing of our pursuers through the trees. However, Alice was rarely wrong when it came to sniffing out danger.
“The higher we get, the more chance we’ve got to hide and throw ’em off our trail,” she said.
So we turned and hurried on. Soon the trees were left behind us, and the ground became steeper and more rocky. The next time I looked back, I could see four shadowy figures moving swiftly up the trail. They were closing on us fast.
We were following a narrow track between two huge crags rising up on either side when, suddenly, we saw a cave ahead, its dark maw leading downward. The path led straight into it. There was nowhere else to go.
“We could lose ’em down there in the dark. Hard to track us, too,” Alice suggested. Swiftly she sniffed the entrance to the cave. “Seems safe enough, this one. No danger at all.”
“But what if it’s a dead end, Alice? If there’s no way through, we’ll be trapped down there in the darkness.”
“Ain’t got much choice, Tom. We either go in, or turn back and face ’em on the path!”
She was right. We had no alternative. I nodded at her, and after using my tinderbox to light the candle I always carried with me, we entered the cave. The descent was gradual at first, and the air was much cooler than outside. Every so often we paused for a second but could hear no sounds of pursuit. It wouldn’t be long before the maenads came after us, though. And what if we reached a dead end? That didn’t bear thinking about.
But the path up to the cave entrance was well-worn, suggesting there was a way through. The tunnel sloped downward more steeply now, each step taking us deeper underground. Suddenly we heard a faint rhythmical tapping within the wall, somewhere to our right. Almost immediately there was a reply from the left wall.
“What’s that, Alice?”
“Don’t know,” she said, her eyes wide. “Ain’t the maenads. They’re back there. Unless there are more of ’em already in the tunnel.”
The tapping became more frantic, building into an insistent beat made by some insane many-armed drummer. The sounds were sometimes above but mostly to the side, as if somebody or something was keeping pace with us, moving along the tunnel. But we could see nothing. Either the things making the sounds were invisible or they were somehow inside the rock. Could they be some sort of elemental? I wondered.
Eventually the tapping noise faded, which made me feel a lot better. Now the tunnel had narrowed and was really steep, the floor uneven and strewn with loose rocks. After a few minutes we emerged into a wider passageway that sloped from left to right. Until now the cave had been dry, but here water cascaded down the far wall and dripped from the roof above, and there were puddles on the ground. We followed the downward slope.
Soon the water underfoot became a shallow, fast-flowing stream, and we followed its course. We pressed on, our mood darkening as our confidence began to ebb away. The depth of the water steadily increased; eventually it came above our knees, the current so strong that I found it difficult to stay upright. By now we could hear the maenads calling to one another behind us, the sounds getting nearer and nearer.
Stumbling along, thigh deep in water, we reached what at first glance appeared to be a dead end. But the water level didn’t seem to be rising any further—if there was no escape route, it would surely have already reached the roof of the cave. Only as we got closer did I notice the extreme turbulence of the water. It crashed against a wall of solid rock before swirling back on itself. It was a large whirlpool.
Somewhere below, we could hear a great echoing roar of falling water. It must be dropping through a hole into a cavern somewhere farther underground. Then we heard shouts and shrieks of anger from behind us. The maenads were closing on us, and we were trapped against the rock face.
Desperately I held the candle aloft and searched the walls that hemmed us in. There was a steep upward slope of scree to our right, a dry area above the water. To my relief, I saw that it led up to a small tunnel. I pointed toward it, and Alice immediately started to scramble up the loose rocks. I followed at her heels, but our pursuers were very close now. I could hear their feet scrunching up the scree, then pounding along the tunnel behind us.
They’d catch us in moments, I thought. Was it better to turn and face them now? The tunnel was very narrow: Only one could confront me at a time. That lessened the odds against us. I decided that it was indeed time to turn and fight.
I handed the candle to Alice. Then, holding my staff before me at forty-five degrees, I released the blade, remembering all that Arkwright had taught me. Breathe slowly and deeply. Spread your weight evenly. Let the enemy come to you and make the first move. Be ready with the counterstrike. . . .
The maenads were getting ready to attack, working themselves into a frenzy, issuing a torrent of words in Greek. I couldn’t understand it all, but I got the general meaning. They were telling me what they intended to do to me.
“We’ll rip out your heart! Drink your blood! Eat your flesh! Grind your bones!”
The first maenad ran straight at me, brandishing a knife and a murderous wooden spike. Her face was twisted into something beyond anger. She lunged. I stepped back and felled her with a hard blow to the temple. The one behind her moved toward me more cautiously. She had insane eyes but a cunning face and was waiting for me to make the first move. She wielded no weapon; her hands were stretched out in front of her. If she managed to get a grip on me, she would immediately start to tear my body to pieces. The others would rush in to help, and that would be the end of me.
She opened her swollen lips to reveal the sharp fangs within, and a nauseating stench wafted over me—far worse than the breath of a witch who used blood or bone magic. The maenads fed on carrion as well as fresh meat, and she had strips of putrefying flesh between her teeth.
Suddenly I heard a loud tap somewhere above—nothing to do with the maenads. Almost immediately it was answered by another, much louder and closer. The sounds began to build toward a deafening crescendo. Within seconds it was all around us, a cacophony of rhythmical tapping on the rock. It was getting louder and louder, an insistent, threatening thunder.
The maenad lost patience and ran at me. I used my staff like a spear, jabbing it into her shoulder. She shrieked and staggered back. All at once, perhaps loosened by the thunderous noise, rocks began to fall around us, and there was an ominous rumble overhead.
Something struck me a glancing blow on the head and I fell backward, half stunned. I struggled up onto my knees and caught a quick glimpse of Alice’s terrified face; then the tunnel came down with a grating, grinding, rumbling roar, and everything went black.
I opened my eyes to see Alice bending over me. The candle had burned very low and was now little more than a stub. There was a bitter taste in my mouth. A piece of leaf lay under my tongue, some healing herb from Alice’s leather pouch.
“Getting really worried, I was,” she remarked. “You’ve been unconscious for ages.”
She helped me to my feet. I’d a bad headache and a lump the size of an egg on the crown of my head. But of our attackers there was no sign.
“The maenads are buried under that pile of rubble, Tom, so we’re safe for now.”
“Let’s hope so, Alice—they’re really strong and any who’ve survived will start to move those rocks to get at us!”
Alice nodded and glanced at the rockfall. “I wonder what those sounds were. . . .”
“I don’t like to think about it, but whatever caused them probably brought down the tunnel.”
“Need to find a way out of here quickly, Tom. That candle ain’t going to last long.”
That’s if there was another way out. If not, it was all over for us. We’d never be able to shift that rockfall. Some of the slabs were too big even for the two of us to lift.
We continued down
the tunnel as quickly as we could; the candle was starting to gutter. Soon we’d be in darkness, maybe never see daylight again.
It was then that I realized it wasn’t flickering just because it was burning low. There was fresh air blowing toward us. But how big would the gap in the rock be? I wondered. Would we be able to get out? Gradually, as we climbed, the breeze became stronger. My hopes soared. And yes—within moments there was light ahead. There was a way out!
Minutes later, grateful to be free of what might have been our tomb, we emerged onto a high path. The mountainside was lit by the moon, which had become paler with the approach of dawn. I took the candle stub from Alice, blew it out, and thrust it into my breeches pocket against further need. Then, without a word, we continued east along a path that was taking us deeper into the mountains.
We had to press on and find a way through to the plain on the other side. I just hoped that Mam and the others had survived the maenad attack. If they had, they’d continue on toward Meteora, and that’s where we’d find them.
CHAPTER XII
Lamias
EVENTUALLY we reached a fork in the path. Both tracks led roughly eastward toward the plain, but which one should we take?
“Which path, Alice?” I asked.
She sniffed each in turn. “Ain’t much choice,” she said with a frown. “Neither one’s safe. A dangerous place, this.”
“What sort of danger?”
“Lamias. Lots of ’em.”
Lamias lurked in mountain passes such as this, preying on travelers. The thought of them made me very nervous indeed—I remembered what Mab said she’d scryed: Alice being killed by a feral lamia on the journey toward the Ord. I was torn between telling her about it and keeping it quiet. But why tell her? I asked myself. She was alert to the danger from lamias anyway, and knowing would only make her more fearful.
But I was still fearful that Mab would be proved right.
“Perhaps we should stay here for a while, Alice,” I suggested, looking up at the sky, which was already brightening. “The sun will be up soon. It can’t be much more than half an hour or so before dawn.”
Lamias couldn’t stand sunlight—we’d be safe then—but Alice shook her head. “Reckon they’ll have sniffed us out already. They’ll know we’re here, Tom. Stay in one spot and they’ll come at us from all sides—they might arrive before the sun comes up. Best keep moving.”
What she said made sense, so, on impulse, I chose the left-hand path. It rose steeply for a while before descending toward a small valley where sheer cliffs reared up toward the sky on both sides. Even when the sun came up, this area would remain in shadow. As we scrambled down, the pale moon was lost to view and I began to grow nervous. To our right was the dark entrance to a small cave. Then I began to notice the feathers scattered around us.
I’d seen that before, back in the County. It was a sign that feral lamia witches were close. When human prey wasn’t available, they made do with smaller creatures such as mice and birds, using dark magic to place them in thrall while they ripped them to pieces and drank their blood.
Soon, to our horror, we saw more signs of danger: a second cave, fragments of dead birds—their wings, beaks, heads, and legs littering the blood-stained rocks outside it. But I noticed that the remains were old, not fresh kills.
“We’ve taken the wrong track, Alice! We need to go back!”
“Either that or move forward a lot faster!” she argued, but it was already too late.
We heard a chilling hiss and turned to find something big scuttling along the rocky path behind us. It was a feral lamia. The creature, at least one and a half times the length of my own body, was crouched on four thin limbs with large splayed hands, each elongated finger ending in a sharp, deadly talon. Long, greasy hair hung down onto the scaled back and across the face, too. What I could see of its features told me that the situation couldn’t be worse. This was not the bloated face of a lamia witch that had recently fed, making it sluggish and less aggressive. No, it was gaunt, cadaverous, its heavily lidded eyes wide open and showing a ravenous hunger.
I turned, stepped in front of Alice, and raised my staff—lamias didn’t like rowan wood. I drove it hard and fast toward its head. There was a dull thud as the end made contact and the creature backed away, hissing angrily.
I followed, jabbing at it again and again. It was then that I heard another angry hiss from behind; I turned to see a second lamia approaching Alice. Almost immediately a third scuttled up onto a large boulder to our right.
Rowan wood wouldn’t be sufficient now, so I pressed the recess near the top of my staff and, with a sharp click, the retractable blade emerged from the end.
“Keep very close behind me, Alice!” I cried. If I could force the lamia back to where the path widened, we could race past it and make our escape.
Wasting no time, I drove my staff hard at the lamia ahead of me. My aim was true, and the blade pierced its right shoulder, sending up a spray of black blood. It screamed and retreated, so I advanced again, stabbing quickly, keeping it at bay, trying to maintain my concentration. Lamias are incredibly fast, and this slow retreat could at any moment turn into a rapid frenzied attack. The lamia could be on me in a second, its talons pinning me down, ravenous teeth biting into my flesh. So I had to focus and await my chance to drive my blade through its heart. Step by step, I continued to advance. Concentrate! I told myself. Watch! Focus! Get ready for the first hint of a surge toward me.
There was a sudden scream from behind. Alice! I risked a quick glance over my shoulder. She was nowhere to be seen! Turning away from the wounded lamia, I began to run back along the track in the direction of that scream. There was no sign of her, and I halted on the path. Had I gone too far? I wondered.
Desperate, with my heart hammering with fear for Alice, I quickly retraced my steps until I came to a cleft in the rock. There were feathers and bird fragments on the ground in front of it. Had she been dragged inside? A shout from within confirmed that she had, but her voice sounded distant and somehow muffled. I eased myself through the gap and moved into the increasing gloom. I came to another cave, far smaller than the others—just a dark hole descending steeply into the ground.
Suddenly I saw Alice looking back at me. Her eyes locked with mine, and I saw her fear, pain, and desperation. The lamia’s jaws were gripping her right shoulder and there was blood at her throat. It was dragging her down, headfirst, deeper into its lair. The last thing I saw was Alice’s left ankle and pointy shoe disappearing from view. It happened so quickly. Before I could even move she was gone.
I rushed over to the opening, threw down my staff, fell to my knees, and thrust my left hand downward in a desperate attempt to grasp Alice’s ankle. But she’d already been dragged too far. I reached into my pockets for the candle stub and my tinderbox. I’d need some light to follow her into the darkness. There was a lump in my throat. The lamia’s teeth were in deep, and it might already be starting to drain her blood, I thought. It was exactly what Mab had predicted. And she’d said that Alice would die down there in the darkness. The witch would suck her blood until her heart stopped.
I heard a scrabbling noise from below. I was probably already too late. Frantic with fear for Alice, I suddenly remembered the dark wish that Grimalkin had given me. It was wrong to use it—it meant invoking the dark. But what choice did I have? How could I stand back and let Alice die when I had the power to save her? Tears welled in my eyes, and my throat began to constrict with emotion. I couldn’t imagine life without Alice. I had to do it.
But would using it save Alice? Would it really be strong enough?
“I wish Alice to be unhurt, safe and well!” I cried, and then repeated the wish quickly as Grimalkin had instructed. “I wish Alice to be unhurt, safe and well!”
I don’t know what I expected to happen. Certainly not for Alice to simply appear safe and well at my side. I was hoping to see her crawl to safety from the lamia’s lair. But all I could hear was the
distant whine of the wind. Grimalkin had said that the wish contained years of stored power. Surely something should be happening by now?
But there was nothing, nothing at all, and my heart sank into my boots. The wish hadn’t worked. Had I done something wrong? I looked down into the dark maw of the lamia’s lair, and regret began to gnaw at my stomach. Why had I wasted my time using the wish? Why had I been so stupid? I should have lit my candle and crawled after her right away.
I opened my tinderbox, and it was then that I sensed something right behind me and remembered the third lamia. In my haste to save Alice I’d forgotten all about it! I turned round. . . .
But it wasn’t a lamia. No, it was something far worse. Standing there and smiling down at me was the Fiend himself.
He was in the shape of Matthew Gilbert, the murdered bargeman. Matthew had been an easygoing, burly man with large hands and a warm smile. The top two buttons of his shirt were open, revealing the brown hair on his broad chest. He looked every inch the genial fellow who had once plied his trade along the Caster-to-Kendal canal. But the Fiend had visited me in that form before, so I knew exactly who I was facing.
“Well, Tom, isn’t this a special day? One I’ve waited a long time to arrive. You’ve finally used the dark!”
I stepped back in alarm at his words and shook my head—though I knew I was lying even to myself. How could I deny it? The Spook had warned that the Fiend would try to win me to his side, corrupting me bit by bit until my soul was no longer my own and I belonged to him. And he’d suggested that Alice was the most likely means to his achieving this end. And now it had happened. I’d used the dark to save Alice.
“Don’t try and pretend that you haven’t! After all, you’ve just used a dark wish. Do you think I don’t know that? Your use of dark magic alerted me to what was happening, so I came right away. The wish has already saved Alice. She’ll be with you soon—just as soon as I leave and allow time to return to normal. You are already free to move, but nothing else is. Look about you. Maybe then you’ll believe me.”
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